


Once a Hero

by NorthernWolf



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M, Gen, Season Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernWolf/pseuds/NorthernWolf
Summary: To: Doctor's in the St. Sebastian's Emergency RoomThis is Dr. Jack Shephard. (In case you don't recognize him because I know he had a really awful beard at one point.) I hope he is not in too much trouble with you guys. I know he did some pretty un-Jack-like things recently, but he seems to be pretty close to being Jack again now. (Hence no beard.)He got hurt trying to do what he always does, save people, so I was hoping that you guys might be able to save him for once. He's really sick, he even threw-up on me as I was bringing him here.Please help him. He needs to get better and have a ton of kids with Kate. Speaking of Kate, can you get her for him? She'll totally be able to make him be “Island Jack” again. That's a good thing!She may not believe you that he's really back in L.A. so just tell her that “The Island was just returning the favor.” Yeah, I know it sounds trippy, but she'll understand.Please take really good care of Jack and don't be too hard of him because of his whole mid-life crisis thing. He's a great doctor, so if you guys can give him his job back…I'm sure he'd really appreciate it. He LOVES saving people!He's a hero.Later dudes,H.R.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write of a very old fic I wrote and didn't finish. Huge thanks to DimpleCurlAeternaGirl for the beta! It's a lot of fun to write and a little more traditional Jate than Five Minutes to Midnight, which also has Suliet and entire host of other things going on: time travel, future Jate and Suliet kids etc. This, on the other hand will be a Jack gets to live and be reunited with Kate after Season 6 fic. Hope you guys enjoy and please drop me a line to let me know what you think and then I'll post more if you like it!

**Chapter 1:** _The Island Was Just Returning The Favour_

As a rule, Dr. Robert Hamill was not a superstitions person. He was never one of those kids who insisted on bringing their lucky pencils to an exam or one of those doctors with their lucky scrub hats, stethoscopes, or orange peels. Hell, he'd seen it all from old gym socks to rabbits' feet.

Robert Hamill was also not a man of faith. He liked to think that his four year bachelor degree, followed by four years of medical school, and five year general surgery residency was a product of his own free will rather than divine intervention.

Hamill was an optimist. He liked the idea of random chance. To him, it was a nice thought that his choice of a cinnamon-raisin bagel and a coffee with two creams and one sugar for breakfast this morning was his choice, simply because he was late for work and the cafeteria had really good bagels and mediocre coffee. No force had predetermined that on the 16,142th day of his life cafeteria bagels would be on the menu.

Another thing Hamill did not much care for was coincidence, even when he didn't quite recognize it as such. Reflecting on it later, he would never forget the evening of December 21, 2007 when everything he believed or at least he thought he believed, was tilted messily on its side.

He should have known it was going to be a strange day when his wife's cat (he refused to take ownership of the thing) appeared on their doorstep after being missing for the past six months. He woke up to a disgruntled, mewling sound and opened his door to find the damn tabby blinking irritably up at him. Okay. Maybe it wasn't that uncommon for cats to just reappear out of nowhere, but this was L.A., a population of 4 million people. He was shocked it wasn't decorating the side of a freeway somewhere. The whole fiasco had ended up being a positive for him. His wife was so elated with Snickers' miraculous return that she hadn't bothered to threaten him with sleeping on the couch if he stayed late at work. Things had been tense between them lately and he could use the reprieve, especially when he realized there was no way he was making it home before midnight.

Robert had spent the past fifteen minutes debating on whether he should advise his wife about work when the high-pitched chirp of his pager made the decision for him. He palmed the thing off the top of his polished oak desk and checked the number: the ER. He rolled his eyes and pushed his chair back to stand up. He could just call, but with the day he'd been having the likelihood of this being something he could handle over the phone was essentially zero.

"Another surgical consult?" He asked the grim-faced triage nurse sitting behind the plexiglass window of the patient registration desk. He yawned and fiddled with the instant message function on his Blackberry.

"Not so much," she croaked in a gravelly voice that was ripened with age. "In all my years I've never…you'll have to see for yourself."

Hamill shrugged, trying to remember which one of his residents was doing their emerge rotation. Fisher, he thought. Most ER stories usually involved people with weird things stuck up their asses and his students never tired of paging him down for show and tell. He started to head in the direction of the exam rooms when she caught his arm and pointed toward the waiting room. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Collin Fisher was junior, but he knew his stuff. Hamill wondered what had spooked his student enough to have him paged directly to the waiting room.

"TB again?" He craned his neck back toward the nurse and cringed. She shook her head and made a 'hurry-up' gesture with her hands. Hamill sighed. The last time he had been called to the waiting room it had been a case of suspected tuberculosis. _Suspected_ being the key word. The CDC had spent almost eight straight weeks trying to bury him in paperwork over what ended up being a bad case of pneumonia.

He dropped his Blackberry back into the breast pocket of his scrubs and rounded the corner where a small crowd had gathered.

"What's happening?"

"Dr. Hamill," Collin, his surgical resident waved him over. "One of the other patients noticed him."

Hamill blinked in the direction the man was pointing. His eyes scanned an empty row of seats until they fell over the image of a man bundled in a down-lined parka with a fringe of beige fur around the hood. He was slumped at the waist and listed to his left side against a wall that kept him from toppling over completely.

"Jesus," Hamill swore and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why isn't this man inside?"

"Stretcher's on the way," Collin assured. "But that's not the strange part," Collin side-stepped the gurney that one of the paramedics working the desk was helping a nurse wheel in. The grim-faced one was trying her hand at crowd control. A patient, half-dead in the waiting room was never good for morale.

Hamill pulled gloves out of the box mounted on the wall. He knelt to help them lift the man onto the stretcher, grabbing him around the waist while the paramedic hooked his hands under the man's armpits.

"We'll move on three," the paramedic said. "One…two…and…three." They guided the man onto the gurney with a fluid motion.

Hamill stared down at his hands. The blue nitrile gloves were stained red with fresh blood.

"I've got blood," he muttered, and leaned over the stretcher, tugging at the parka. Another nurse was already working the hood back. It had been flush against the man's face, concealing his fever brightened skin.

"Where we going?" she asked.

"Trauma One. Now!" Hamill barked. "Stab wound, lower right quadrant,"

Hamill wrestled the clips of the overstuffed coat, fighting with them before he could even get to the zipper, let alone get it down. He didn't look up but frowned as the fabric finally gave way to a faded blue t-shirt, sticky from the blood had started to coagulate in a messy streak down the right side. He leaned in to get a better look, doing his best to examine the wound and walk with the gurney at the same time. The staff had wasted no time, but he waited until they were parked in the resuscitation bay before he started to palpate the area.

The man moaned loudly and Hamill jerked his head up, gasped, then cursed at the sight.

"Jack?" he muttered.

Collin nodded. "One of the nurses recognized him. Nobody saw who brought him in…I mean I doubt he could have made it himself in this condition…and there was a note."

Hamill's brow furrowed. "A note?"

A high-pitched beep filled the air before Collin could elaborate.

"His O2 stats are at 89%," Glen, the paramedic, announced as he reached for an oxygen mask hanging on the wall and jabbed at the 'alarm silence' button on the monitor.

"Alright, get him on a non-rebreather." Hamill paused to look around the room. "How's his pressure?"

"90/70 and his heart rate is clipping along at 120." Collin announced as he watched the nurses assigned to the resuscitation bay bustle into the room.

"Okay, we can work with that. For labs I want trauma set with type, screen, and cross match two units. Also, add on some blood cultures. Let's bolus him a couple of liters of Ringers wide open and for antibiotics we'll do Pip-Tazo 4.5g IV q6h. Someone call the OR to prep for an ex-lap."

"Jack?" Hamill squeezed the man's shoulder as he did his best to coax his arm out from where it was still tangled in the coat. He bit his lip and silently wondered if he should have tried harder. He barely knew Jack and by reputation only. At the time, he had laughed at the irony that they should meet after Jack pulled a women and her eight-year-old son out of a burning vehicle— a hero twice over. He should have recognized it back then. He shouldn't have ignored the vague sense that something was off when he left three voicemails without so much as a response after Jack had been so insistent on staying involved with the woman's care. But this was why Robert was a surgeon and not a psychiatrist. Things became clearer when the woman finally did wake up and pretty much spelled it out for him that Jack was suicidal.

It had been four weeks and Robert still berated himself for not trying harder. He had let Jack walk out of his department drunk and screaming for his dead father because he still thought of Jack as a physician, not a patient. He had gotten so busy in his new role as Chief of Surgery that he hadn't even called anyone to check up on him. Hamill was new at this and they were strangers, barely even colleagues. He had sounded impressive on paper, someone Hamill wouldn't mind having a beer with after work, but in real life Jack just seemed sad and broken.

"Look, you're at the hospital," he stated, letting his eyes roam over Jack's exposed arms, automatically checking them for needle marks. Where had the man come from? A bar? Did some skittish teenager find him a back ally and drop him off here? How had he gotten stabbed? Over drugs?

He leaned in, sniffing the air around the man. There was no apparent scent of alcohol. "Add a serum and urine tox to the list," he muttered to the nurse. He cringed as her expression changed, suddenly disapproving, as though Jack wasn't worth their time anymore.

Jack weakly brushed away Robert's hand, squirming on the stretcher. His eyes were half-open, but unfocused.

"Easy Jack, we're trying to help you." Hamill's fingers snagged on the coat again. He huffed and grabbed a pair of trauma shears from the medical tray to cut the damn thing off. His t-shirt was harder to deal with, layers of skin began to slough off with it as they started to peel it away. It was as though the man had been in the sun for a very long time and his skin was burned to a crisp.

"Jesus, anyone got a temp on him yet?" He called out, frowning.

"104.3."

"Shit. Get him…" He didn't have time to force the rest of the words out as Jack rolled on his good side and started to tremble.

"Hey," Hamill directed his attention toward the man and side-stepped the nurse trying to attach ECG leads to his exposed chest.

"Do you know where you are, Jack? Can you tell us what happened?"

"I…didn't know you were working today," he slurred, arcing his head toward the sound of the voice. Another shiver reverberated through him. He barely seemed awake.

"My resident called me down," Hamill explained, humoring the man. "Can you tell us what happened to you?"

Jack's eyes opened a little wider, revealing just how glassy they were.

"I gave your Mom the tickets. If you don't have anybody else, maybe you could take Aunt Claire. I'm sure she'd love to get out of the house." He started to push himself up on his elbows. Hamill gently blocked him with his arm.

"Jack," he said calmly. "You're very sick. You need to lay back down."

"I'm…gonna…be…late for…the c…concert." Jack grunted disjointedly and propelled himself forward with all his strength. Thankfully, it wasn't very much, but it didn't stop him from trying.

"You're not gonna get an IV in him like that," Glen remarked, skeptically.

He wriggled in an erratic motion that almost sent Robert flying.

"I…I have to be there…can't let him down again." Jack grumbled irritably, he was almost off the stretcher when one of the ER nurses had the good sense to stick him with a pre-filled syringe of Haldol and Ativan. Jack whimpered as he fell backward onto the pillow.

Hamill looked incredulous, but she shrugged. "You think we've never dealt with a rowdy patient before?" She asked nonchalantly.

"All right, that's enough all of you!" Hamill seethed. "I know what this looks like but Dr. Shephard is a distinguished staff member at this hospital and you are _all_ going to treat him with respect. Within that respect is the notion of doctor-patient confidentiality. Everyone remember what that means? For those of you who forgot I'll make it simple: I don't want to hear _any_ gossip about Jack's condition here or so help me god, your resignation letter better be on my desk by 9:00 AM Monday morning."

They all stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

Robert glared back coolly.

The nurse who had sedated Jack looked as though she was about to cry.

"Understand?" he barked once he was sure he had everyone's undivided attention.

He was met by a chorus of "yes's" and "yes sir's".

"All right then." Hamill bowed his head. "Then let's get to work here. He's probably septic and I don't know what kind of internal damage he's got going on. He needs IV access to get those fluids running and antibiotics on board. Let's also get the man a gram of Tylenol and somebody call up to see if OR is ready for us yet. If they aren't, tell them I said to hurry the hell up because I have a sick patient who needs an exploratory laparotomy."

"See, Dr. Hamill can be downright formidable when something gets him going." Collin explained to a young-blonde-haired nursing student who was observing the scene from the door way. She smiled shyly at him.

Robert fixed his junior resident with a glare. "Got something to contribute, Fisher?"

"Ah…No sir…" Collin started, but then he considered this for a moment. "I mean yes sir!" He dug his hand into his lab coat pocket and rooted it around until he produced a crumpled scrap of paper. "Um…this was taped to Jack's…I mean Dr. Shephard's body."

Hamill blinked, taking the paper from the man's outstretched hand.

"Taped to him?" He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes, sir." Collin nodded.

Robert Hamill sighed and smoothed his thumbs over the paper, pressing out the wrinkles so that he could squint down at the messy scrawl before him. He wondered if his theory about some skittish teenager dropping the man off was correct. At least they had the decency to leave a note.

_To: Doctor's in the St. Sebastian's Emergency Room_

He blinked. At least it was specific.

_This is Dr. Jack Shephard. (In case you don't recognize him because I know he had a really awful beard at one point.) I hope he is not in too much trouble with you guys. I know he did some pretty un-Jack-like things recently, but he seems to be pretty close to being Jack again now. (Hence no beard.)_

_He got hurt trying to do what he always does, save people, so I was hoping that you guys might be able to save him for once. He's really sick, he even threw-up on me as I was bringing him here._

_Please help him. He needs to get better and have a ton of kids with Kate (Austen)._

_Speaking of Kate, can you get her for him? She'll totally be able to make him be "Island Jack" again. (That's a good thing…kinda like Jack who used to work for you guys before the crash only less high-strung and more confident. Sometimes he'll even play golf!) You can contact her at 310-425-2534 and she lives at 42 Panorama Crest._

_She may not believe you that he's really back in L.A. so just tell her that "The Island was just returning the favour." Yeah, I know it sounds trippy, but she'll understand._

_Please take really good care of Jack and don't be too hard of him because of his whole mid-life crisis thing. He's a great doctor, so if you guys can give him his job back…I'm sure he'd really appreciate it. He LOVES saving people!_

_He's a hero._

_Later dudes,_

_H.R._

Dr. Hamill frowned as he raised his eyes from letter.

"That's pretty messed up huh?" Collin started to say but his neck whipped around as he heard a yell. Robert glanced over at Jack. He wasn't trying to get off the stretcher anymore, but the sedative had barely touched him. He seemed to have tolerated the IVs that were threaded into the crook of his elbows, but now he was squirming and screaming bloody murder as one of the nurses tried to put a catheter in him.

"Have you called Kate yet?" He asked quietly as he adjusted the curtains around the bed and turned his back to the scene.

Collin's eyebrows furrowed. "No, we were considering calling LAPD but…" he hesitated.

Hamill shook his head. He wasn't sure what to think, but he was determined to get to the bottom of the situation. "Call Kate Austen. 310-425-2534." He read off the paper.

Collin shrugged. "Alright, but I doubt she's even a real…"

"Now!" Hamill cut him off, fixing him with an intense glare.

Collin showed him his palms in surrender. "Okay," he agreed and pointed to the nursing station. "I'll go do it."

Kate wasn't coping well and she had started taking it out on the cheerful _Mom's Family Calendar_ she hadn't bother to take off the fridge. Instead, she had started crossing out the number of days they had been back with a red Sharpie. It was the very same one she had confiscated from Aaron because he had managed to scribble "I Luv u Momy" in sloppy, misshapen scrawl along the molding at the entrance to her bedroom. When she had confronted him about it, he had explained in his own little way that it was because she was "sad a lot." It was just after Jack had left. Kate hadn't bothered to paint over it, she wasn't even sure if she even owned a can of white paint, but sometimes, in the middle of the night, she wished she had—especially now.

The first day back they had parted their separate ways. Carole was waiting for them at LAX, clutching her handbag and looking too shocked to be relieved. Claire refused to accept her hug. Kate was almost glad that Aaron wasn't there as she did her best to explain why Claire "wasn't well." She had felt like she had failed all over again.

Sawyer had disappeared in search of the nearest bar. Miles followed along like a lost puppy. Neither of them had spoken two words to her since Fiji. She didn't mind. They were all too damn numb.

Frank and Richard did stick around for a little while. Frank had run into a pilot friend he knew from his school days and was amiably chatting while Richard observed, uncertain of what to do. He finally settled on telling Kate what a hero Jack had been and she ran from him, shaking her head and spending a good three hours hunched over in a stall in the lady's room puking her guts up. She barely remembered the taxi ride home.

Her second day back felt similar to the first. She had curled up on her couch wearing one of Jack's old dress shirts he hadn't bothered to come back for. She hugged Aaron's toy whale close to her chest.

By day six she had managed to pull herself off of the couch long enough to answer the damn phone when it rang. It was Sawyer, drunk-dialing her from some bar to tell her how sorry he was….about everything. His tone was dark and wobbly. It made her think of all those Friday night phone calls from Jack and she broke down and threw Aaron's toy whale across the room. She unplugged all the phones in the house after that. She just wasn't strong enough to do it all again.

On day seven she had officially gone three days without food and almost 72 hours without sleep. She had managed for the first few nights back. Eventually, the initial shock and exhaustion started to wane, giving way to the nightmares that lay underneath. Even they were not so bad at first. She saw Sun, and Jin, and the rest of them. They all looked so happy, except Jack. When he came and sat on the couch beside her, he looked disapproving. He appeared younger. The frown lines around his mouth weren't as deep, but his eyes where hard and wary. In her mind she could hear him scolding her for taking on bad habits and his problems, but she never really listened. All that she wanted was him.

It was impossible to tell at which point she just gave up. She was beyond caring. Everything blended together making it hard to tell where she was any more. She didn't hear the doorbell when it rang. She could sort of see the sound pulsing behind closed lids, but she made no motion to do anything about it. It didn't register to her that there was something she should do, not even as the door creaked open and footsteps echoed throughout the house.

The next time she awoke she was on her back and appeared to be moving but was too tired to work out how. Everything was bright and faces hung above her, seeming to swirl like stars in the sky.

"We'll move on three. Make sure the stretcher slides into place, the locking mechanism sticks sometimes…one…two…and three, nice and easy now."

No. It was supposed to be five. Jack said count to five. A fleeting thought skittered around in her brain, but she couldn't make sense of why it even came to mind.

Her world suddenly dimmed and seemed to tilt on an angle as sounds whizzed around her making her shudder.

"BP's 90/50. Think we can get her to drink something or should I put an IV in?"

"Does she look like she's well enough to drink something?" another voice snapped.

"Look ma'am, unless you're family I'm going to have to ask you to…"

"I found her. I'm going with her," the first voice asserted firmly.

The sounds seemed to settle after a moment, replaced with a constant mechanical hum that made her feel like she was back on the plane all over again. Maybe she was and she just couldn't get her eyes wide open enough to see it. Sawyer was probably still sitting behind her with that haunted, murderous look in his eyes that he couldn't seem to rein in. Miles to his left staring blankly out at the ocean, Richard in the cockpit with Frank, while she sat by Claire, watching her twitch uncomfortably as she slept. It had been easier once they had landed in Fiji. The plane back to L.A. was commercial and there were more passengers to be distracted by than the five people she had been through hell and back together with.

"She's gonna have to lose the shirt…there's blood." Someone sounded apprehensive.

"If you even think about…"

"Look, we just want to get a look at her shoulder. We'll get a blanket and cover her up first and we'll only undo what we have to."

Kate felt them undoing the buttons of Jack's dress shirt, the pale blue one that she had somehow claimed as a sleeping shirt. She whimpered as they tried to peel it off her, feeling like someone was taking Jack away all over again.

"Kate?"

She started to squirm.

"Just try and relax. I know it hurts, but these men are trying to help," a voice tried to sooth her.

"So, can anyone hazard a guess as to how she got shot?"

She heard enough that she should have been able to supply something useful, but she felt cold and claustrophobic.

"It's stitched up so someone must have seen to it at some point. She could certainly do with having a doc look at it though, there's definitely pus and the area is erythematous."

It was hard to focus on what they were saying. Her eyes didn't really want to stay open and she felt marginally better when she kept them closed. The hands lingering above her seemed unrelenting. She wanted to swat them away but felt too weak to even acknowledge that she had hands of her own. She knew she must because she could feel a gentle pressure radiating through one of them, as though someone was continually squeezing…trying to ground her.

In the end it wasn't enough. She was too tired to play their game. It felt so much better to let herself drift to the point she didn't feel anything anymore, just a haze of swirling colors that seemed to envelop her in a sleepy cocoon of warmth. Somewhere through it she could see Jack. He didn't appear as angry as he had before, just tired, he was always so tired. Maybe when he got some rest they could play golf again…she could beat him at golf again. A smile played on her lips as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Good Luck on Your Surgery, Doctor

**Once a Hero**

**Chapter 2: Good Luck on Your Surgery, Doctor**

Kate didn't know what woke her, only that it was very loud. She groaned and made a motion to cover her ears but her arms felt heavy and uncooperative. She heard something shift, then the sound stopped.

"Hello?" she called out. Her voice sounded hoarse and speaking took more energy than she remembered.

A blurry face appeared above her. Kate blinked to clear her vision and it seemed help a little bit.

"Hey, stranger. How are you feeling?"

She frowned, trying to ease through the fog enough to put a face with a name.

"Cassidy?" she rasped, finally piecing enough together to be moderately coherent.

She must have gotten it right because the woman above her seemed to smile and nod a few times.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She waggled the cell phone she was in the process of stuffing back in her purse. "Clem's been worried sick about her Auntie Kate."

Her jaw dropped a little pulling her mouth along with it. Something wasn't working right. She tried swallowing a couple of times, but it didn't seem to help.

Cassidy seemed to understand the problem. She stood and disappeared from her field of vision long enough to pour a cupful of water from the pitcher on the night table.

"Here, drink." She pressed the purple straw against Kate's lips. The rest was a reflex that Kate didn't have to think about. She greedily gulped back the water in long, desperate slurps that left her gasping for air.

"Whoa, easy now. Slowly, okay?"

Kate nodded, breathlessly.

"Good. Like that." Cassidy encouraged, allowing her to take a few more sips before she pulled the straw away and set the plastic cup somewhere that Kate couldn't see from where she laid.

"Better?"

"Yeah," she forced out. "Where?"

Cassidy did her best to mask the sympathy playing over her features and ended up letting out a loud sigh. "Well, what's the last thing you remember and we'll go from there."

Kate was suddenly aware she wasn't wearing pants and frowned. She tried to force her mind into telling her why. Her limbs were shaky, but she frantically ran her fingers along the hem of a blue and white hospital gown. Her heart started to beat a little faster. She saw a flash of Jack sitting on the edge of her couch with a worried look of disapproval on his face.

"Where?" she demanded again while pushing the image from her mind. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed.

"Kate, you're at St. Sebastian's Hospital." Cassidy seemed uncertain. "Look, maybe you should get some more rest and I can come back when…" she trailed off.

"No," Kate did her best to appear calm. She tried issuing a weak smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"I'm OK," she insisted and weakly propped herself up on her elbows to prove it. The motion only resulted in a stabbing pain shooting through her left shoulder. She didn't protest when Cassidy adjusted the controls on the bed so that she was half-sitting.

"Thanks," she muttered.

Cassidy nodded. "Now what do you remember? It's important."

Kate rubbed her face absently feeling a little stronger. She couldn't quite muster the energy to meet the other woman's eyes. "I was on the couch at home," she started. She frowned. "And… it's all a big blur."

Kate thought about it and shook her head. She had no idea.

Cassidy relented. "The doctor said you were severely dehydrated and sleep deprived, Kate. Why didn't you call me, huh? What the hell happened?"

Kate's bottom lip started to trembled. Cassidy's sharp tone made her feel like she was a little kid again caught stealing that damn lunch box.

"I… I…" her voice cracked and the walls that she had worked so hard to put up started to crumble away. "They all died. Sun and Jin, Juliet, Sayid… and… and… Jack."

"They're gone…" she muttered as the first tears began to well up, stinging her eyes. "Oh god! They're all gone and I already lost Aaron."

Cassidy moved to lean over the edge of the bed. She tentatively reaching to pull Kate against her offering solid support as she trembled. Her words had only confirmed what Cassidy had already suspected. Last night she had gotten a phone call from someone she wasn't even sure she still believed was alive … Sawyer was slobbering drunk and had begged her to let him see Clementine. She almost felt guilty now as she thought back to what had originally prompted her visit to Kate's house. He might have just unintentionally saved Kate's life.

"I know, sweetie, I know… but it's gonna be okay, you'll see."

They rocked back and forth on Kate's hospital bed until she seemed to surrender to it all and that old coping mechanism that she had trained herself so well to use started to kick in. She squeezed her eyes tight together, only letting the fear in for five seconds as she counted.

One. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, a quick drumbeat that seemed to fill her ears.

Two. Her lungs burned as she forced back a sob.

Three. She could feel Cassidy's fingers rubbing slow circles across her back.

Four. She could see him standing there in her mind's eye. A calm reassuring expression played across his features as the ocean waves rolled and tumbled in the distance.

Five. Kate opened her eyes and took a deep breath, one she didn't even realize she had been holding.

"I'm fine," she stammered, pulling away.

Cassidy appeared doubtful.

"Really," Kate tried to assure her. " It just happened so…" her mind was still too sluggish to really complete the sentence.

"How long have I been here?" She asked to deflect what she was really feeling. The room, what she could see of it, was small and well-lit with yellow paint peeling off the wall and a window open on the far side. Kate appreciated the gesture. It seemed to chase away that cold, sterile, hospital scent and made the room smell like fresh-cut grass and rain. She could smell rain on the horizon.

"A little over a day. They brought you in yesterday evening and it's just after 10:00 p.m. now. Your doctor is going to kill me for waking you up."

Kate frowned again. She'd slept almost 24 hours. No wonder she felt groggy and disoriented.

"No, no," Kate protested while feigning a smile. "I think I've slept enough."

Her yawn gave her away and Cassidy issued her a stern look.

"Oh, you'll be getting more sleep," she insisted. "And you'll doing _everything_ your doctors tell you because, I swear Kate, I don't think Clem and I could handle it if you get sick on us again."

Kate suddenly felt very guilty. The kind of guilt you feel when you realize that you are not totally alone after all, and someone you hadn't even considered had gone out of their way to worry about you.

"You've been here this whole time, haven't you? God, Cassidy, what about Clementine?"

Cassidy shook her head. "Clem's been up half the night eating birthday cake and watching movies. I've been checking in with her every few hours. She's at a sleepover." She glanced toward her purse. Her phone was tucked in the side pouch.

"As of 45 minutes ago they were deciding which one of them gets to be Justin Bieber's wife."

Kate let out a soft puff of air, wishing she had Aaron with her to screw his face up at the girl talk.

"That sounds about right."

"Yeah," Cassidy agreed. "Clem is something else. She's growing up so fast! God, it won't be long before she starts bringing boys of her own home and…" she shuddered.

Kate did her best not to look pained. "You know, her father came back with us."

"Her father's a drunk." Something dangerous hung in Cassidy's tone. It triggered something within Kate's mind.

Jack used to call her when he was drunk, but it didn't mean that he was… no… no that wasn't it. She thought about it more, working it through as though it was a puzzle she had to solve. Jack. Drunk. Sawyer. She played with the words. Sawyer was drunk! He called her. That was it! Then she had unplugged the phone because he reminded her of Jack.

"Cassidy," Kate swallowed hard. "I'm not sticking up for him, but he was stranded on that island for three years… He…he settled down with someone… made a home. Her name was Juliet. She died when we were trying to get off the island." She tried to explain, but her words just didn't quite do justice to the whole situation.

"He's grieving," she added.

Just like Jack was grieving the first time they had gotten off the island. She just didn't realize it then. Maybe he didn't either.

Cassidy's expression softened. "I didn't know that," she sighed. "I'm not going to guarantee anything. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he wanted to see her. If he can manage to stay sober that is."

"Give him time, Cassidy. Just promise you'll consider it?"

Someone knocked on the door cutting off whatever else she was going to say. Kate glanced up, wearily scratching at the tape that secured the IV to her hand. A doctor appeared in the doorway. He smiled warmly at her as he padded toward the bed brandishing a clipboard.

"Ms. Austen?"

Kate nodded and watched him wearily.

"I'm just going to head down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat." Cassidy quickly excused herself, closing the door behind the doctor as she exited.

"My name's Dr. Nathan Carter. I'm one of the general surgery docs who looked after you when they brought you in last night. How are you feeling?"

She automatically reached over to shake the man's hand and he did his best to appear reassuring.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

He cocked his head to the side, noting just how bloodshot her eyes were. "Well, from where I'm standing you look like you could use some more rest and a good meal. That certainly disqualifies the stuff they try to feed the patients around here. You can have your friend sneak you something from the cafeteria if you want."

Carter sat in the chair that Cassidy had vacated, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes as he leafed through her chart.

"Or there's this really great burger joint down the road that delivers. You know, you might want to keep that in mind when the cravings start."

Kate started at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I remember my wife had this weird thing for pickles and ice cream," he shuddered. "Try explaining that one to the store clerk at 4 a.m." He glanced up and caught the strange expression she was giving him.

"Right, sorry." He chuckled, misinterpreting. "Don't worry, you've still got a few months ahead of you before that happens. How's the morning sickness been?"

Kate's eyebrows furrowed.

"What?"

It was Carter's turn to look confused. "Kate, you do know you're pregnant, right?" He asked slowly.

Her tired green eyes flooded with tears as his words sunk in. She didn't hear him apologize another half a dozen times. He awkwardly excused himself with the promise of checking in on her later.

"Ms. Austen, you have to eat something." The nurse assigned to her ward clucked at her disapprovingly. She surveyed Kate's untouched plate of plain white rice with bits of diced chicken breast sprinkled over the top. Kate blinked. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since the doctor had left her to her thoughts.

Kate had gone as far as to take the cover off the tray and push the rice around with her spoon just to show that she was trying to be cooperative, but she hadn't bothered to lift the utensil to her lips. She issued the nurse a bland look to clearly make the point she wanted to be left alone. It had worked on Cassidy, but the problem with hospital nurses was that they appeared to be immune.

"Ms. Austen, if you don't eat something soon the doctor will have to…" Kate shoveled her spoonful of rice into her mouth and swallowed quickly. The action seemed to shut the nurse up and earn her the solitude she so desperately craved.

She shoved the tray to the side once she was sure the door to her room had clicked shut again. The thought of eating made her nausea bubble back at full force.

Her right hand automatically drifted to her abdomen. She ran her palm along its smooth surface, feeling the slight bulge drifting up out of the flat plain of skin. She repeated the motion several times in disbelief, unsure how she could have missed something so damn obvious.

She closed her eyes and the let the tears leak out, even though no sound escaped her chapped lips. She didn't move a muscle, not wanting to take her hand away from the little part of Jack that she still had inside of her. Her left hand twitched. It wanted to feel the little mound too, but was confined in the sling Dr. Carter had fit her with.

"Jack," she choked through the tears, shaking her head while still staring at her belly.

"Oh god…Jack!"

Kate let it all take over her again, feeling everything from the moment he walked into her life to the moment they left him behind all bubble up at once. Every smile, every kiss, every fight rushed through her in a blurred haze of emotion.

Jack was going to be a father … and he didn't even know it. He would _never_ know it. He would have made such a great dad, even if he didn't believe it himself.

Her sobs jostled her shoulder making the all too familiar ache return at full force. Everything threatened to boil over like a volcano. She drew in a deep long breath willing herself to just concentrate on breathing through it, to calm herself down and not give in. Kate's bloodshot eyes roamed over the spot again, the place inside of her where Jack still was. All five fingers splayed across it like a lifeline.

Maybe he hadn't left her completely alone after all.

She glanced toward the tray of food and tentatively pulled it toward her. She would be eating for two now.

* * *

"Well, I'm sure you're gonna love her. She's extremely pregnant." He could hear himself talking, the relaxed and almost playful tone seeming foreign to his own ears. His was in the hospital… No, he was at work. He could feel his thighs flush with the reception desk as he rested his elbows on the smooth countertop.

Juliet was watching him from the other side. She was grinning, laughing about something with their son. David was there too. He frowned. Why was David at work? Didn't Juliet have him this week?

The hospital lights were bright. Bright enough to hurt Jack's head. He swallowed thickly.

"Shit! I think he's waking up."

Jack glanced around, searching for source of the voice. The hospital was quiet; no one in the ER waiting room … no patients in distress.

"Should we give him a whiff of nitrous while we're waiting?"

Jack frowned. Were they tubing someone? He pushed himself away from the desk intent on investigating. He doubled over with a ragged groan. His right hand automatically went to his abdomen. It felt as though something was ripping him apart from the inside out.

"Midazolam," he muttered when he felt well enough to speak. His left hand was still clinging white-knuckled to the edge of the desk. "Midazolam is used for short ED procedures. The total dosage in adults is 0.02-0.1 mg/kg, 0.05-0.15 mg/kg for peds."

"Wow. Is he giving us advice? Guess he's not quite as out as we thought."

Jack drew in a long breath, wanting to say more, but not quite trusting his voice. A grunt of pain escaped him before he could rein it back in.

"Hang in there, Jack. Dr. Carter is on his way down. You're doing great, buddy."

_Hang in there? Why the hell were they talking to him as though he was the one with the problem? He had to make them understand. He had to try and help._

"Dammit! He's trying to get up again. Go ahead and gas him. Somebody go and tell Carter to hurry the hell up!"

Jack didn't like the sound of what was happening. He felt dizzy and hot, very hot. He had soaked his dress shirt straight through. He felt like he was going to pass out. He whimpered. _Not here. Not at work._

His nails slid against the desk's polished surface in a last-ditch effort to try and maintain his balance. The sound he made seemed to catch Juliet's attention, but her expression was all wrong. She didn't seem at all worried, didn't rush toward him when it became evident that he was losing his battle to stay vertical. Instead she just smiled broadly as though extremely amused.

"Juliet, what?" he mumbled. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't even attempt to ascertain what she was saying. He hit the floor, his ears roaring with a high-pitched buzzing noise that only seemed to make the nausea worse. God, he felt awful.

"I said, good luck on your surgery, doctor."

Jack tried to raise his head, but everything was greying out on him. He felt too sick to move as his mind started to run away with itself.

Jack opened his eyes to a place that he had never been in before. He felt better. There was no pain, just a warm, tickling sensation that seemed to make his insides flutter. The sensation was not entirely unwelcome, but he did his best to block it out and enjoy the feeling of pure euphoria that appeared to be coursing through him.

The landscape was bright and unfolded around him like a colorful photograph. He was warm, really warm. The glaring tropical sun drawing every last drop of moisture from his body. He could see the remnants on his shirt. The dusty, purple tank-top he was wearing clung awkwardly to his chest. He could tell from the faded fabric that it was well worn.

Jack sighed, feeling the recoil of his lungs as he pushed out a long, slow breath. It was as if there was nothing better in the world than the mild sea breeze that ruffled his cropped hair. The breeze was laden with the sounds and smells of the pounding surf in the far distance, heavy with salt. It soothed his body from the oppressing heat. Every care in the world seemed to ooze out of him. He was so warm, so relaxed he couldn't help the dopey smile tugging his lips upward. This was the life! He didn't have to be anyone, a doctor, a father— just Jack.

"Hell, Doc, didn't know taking it easy was in your vocabulary. Did Freckles slip you something again?"

His head craned sideways toward the sound, not bothering to move from the long, flat rock he was apparently sunning himself on.

"Something you want, Sawyer?" he said in a voice that wasn't his own. How the hell did he know that?

He must have got it right because the southerner grinned and flashed a dimpled smile.

"That's a loaded question, Doc, but damn! Right now, I could go fer a couple of Vegas call girls and a one-way ticket off this rock. But that ain't gonna happen is it? So how 'bout Freckles? Any way I can get her?"

"I'm sorry?" Jack blinked, coming back to himself.

Sawyer gave a self-satisfied huff and stiffly raised his shoulder. "Nothin'. Just here for my morning constitutional."

He rattled a pill bottle in front of the doctor's face. "Didn't realize you could be such a lay-about is all. You even been up to the beach yet?"

Jack frowned. "Why would I go to the beach?"

Why would he want to go anywhere? His body was sprawled out across the rock, his muscles were practically melting into the solid stone. He doubted he had ever felt this relaxed in his entire life.

The scruffy man looked affronted. "Well I don't know, Dr. Fix-it. You've been struttin' around here for over a month with yer damn stethoscope wedged too far up yer ass so why stop now? I'm sure someone on this damn island needs saving so get to it already!"

Jack leaned forward, groaning at the loss of heat. "Look, I don't know who you..."

Something changed, burst apart as though he had just realized he had been treading on glass. A cold and clear emotion flickered across Sawyer's features and he looked pained all of a sudden and older, like a man who had finally realized what he wanted from life only to have it snatched away from him.

"You gotta fix this, Jack."

Jack just stared at him dumbly. He was warm and his body felt like it was filled with jello. He was perfectly content to just lay flat and rest his eyes. He was so tired.

Sawyer shook his head sharply, his face twisting in irritation. For some strange reason the man seemed to age in front of his eyes. He blinked and Sawyer was standing in front of him wearing a strange, dust colored jumpsuit with the words "LaFleur, Head of Security" stitched on the breast pocket. Jack rolled away from him, suddenly feeling queasy all over again. He was facing the mouth of a cave and wanted nothing more than to just crawl inside and lie down.

Sawyer seemed to be approaching on him fast. He could hear his heavy footsteps as they scuffed the grass, but the sound was coupled with something softer, more persistent.

"Seems half out… Nitrous isn't doing much for the pain…"

_Of course it wasn't. Midazolam. They needed Midazolam … morons._

Something inside of him did a flip-flop and he was glad he was already lying down. Maybe if he could just close his eyes and … _Ahhh! God it hurt!_

His breath came in shuddering gasps making his entire chest quiver. It seemed to draw a fresh bout of pain straight out from his middle.

"Shit! BP's shooting…"

He clutched his side. Everything was burning. He felt his stomach contract and he couldn't hold back the onslaught that followed.

"Dammit! Suction… I need suction!"

Jack hung over the side of his rock for a moment resting his head on the jagged edge, too weak to do anything else.

Light appeared to resonate from the interior of the cave, the soft glow snaring his gaze and willing him toward it. He contemplated it at first, but his body wouldn't let him move, as much as he wanted to get up and out of his own mess. The smell infiltrated his nostrils, daring his stomach to repeat the action.

Then, the whole world seemed to burst into flames around him; everything the light touched, the grass, the trees, the sky. He stumbled onto shaky legs, needing to get away from the inferno around him. He could hear the flames cracking, feel the heat on his skin, instant and unrelenting.

"Okay Jack. Hang on, buddy! Let's get him started on high dose midazolam and a couple of micrograms of fentanyl. That'll relax him pretty quick. Easy now, Jack. You'll feel better in a sec…"

Jack moaned. The sound was distorted, playing with his mind, making it impossible for him to figure out where he was or what was going on. He could smell his flesh starting to burn as his legs fell out from under him and he started to lose his battle. He couldn't tell if the smoke or tears were making his eyes sting.

The flames flared up around him, arcing over his head, ready to obliterate him… Then nothing, nothing at all.

Dr. Nathan Carter watched Jack's vitals even out on the monitor.

"Good," he nodded to his surgical team. "He didn't look like he was having a good time of it. Ryerson, wanna go ahead and intubate him?"

The door to the sterile corridor opened and Carter stiffened as the Chief of Surgery entered. "Running late, Dr. Carter?" Hamill's tone was accusing.

The younger man sighed. "I was with a pretty distraught patient. She just found out she was pregnant. The father's dead." He didn't mention that he royally fucked up and made the situation a whole lot worse.

Hamill nodded.

Carter blinked, noticing that the older man appeared intent on staying.

"You auditing me?" He tilted his head and asked in a half-joking tone.

The circulating OR nurse had already begun to swab Jack's stomach in a pink Betadine solution as the men spoke.

"No. Dr. Shephard here is a senior member of our surgical team. I want to lend assistance when necessary."

Carter nodded. "Of course, sir. I recognized his name, but I don't think I've ever met him."

Hamill glanced at him. "Dr. Shephard's been … on leave," he said, hesitating for only a moment. "How's his temperature doing?"

"104.1."

"Up the dosage on the acetaminophen. I don't want him going into shock. I'm amazed he's hanging in there as it is."

Ryerson, the anesthesiologist, pushed another gram into Jack's line and looked doubtful. "I'm not sure if we can open him up without killing him," he admitted, earning an incredulous look from Hamill.

Carter caught Hamill's gaze. "I agree. He's almost in full blown heat stroke and he's septic. Even with rehydration therapy his heart rate still isn't where we want it. He's really sitting on the critical borderline with his temp."

"Are you suggesting we leave him to die, doctor?" Hamill retorted in a raised, irritated tone.

Nathan Carter felt his heart beat a little faster as the man's eyes bore into him. It finally dawned on him that Hamill was emotionally invested in this somehow. Of course, he was. He was the Chief of Surgery. Jack was one of his surgeons and it was his job to look out for his people.

"No. I'm _suggesting_ , we get someone from cardiology up here for a consult," he told the man brightly.

Even from across the table, Carter could see the muscles in the man's jaw clench in irritation.

"There's nothing wrong with his heart, Dr. Carter." Hamill fixed him with a calculating look as though trying to decide if the doctor was competent enough to be leading the case.

Carter nodded but smiled behind his OR mask. "Have you ever been to a 7-Eleven, Dr. Hamill?" he asked wryly.

The Chief of Surgery glared at him for just a moment, ready to kick him out, but then something in his eyes changed. He choked out a little laugh.

"You've been spending too much time in the ER. Brief your team, doctor. I'll get Dr. Pearce."

"Dr. Carter, what just happened?" McKay, Carter's resident, asked somewhat uneasily as they watched Dr. Hamill's retreating form. "I mean are we going to do the surgery or not?"

The rest of the surgical team appeared to share his apprehension.

Carter easily slipped into teaching mode. "McKay, when a patient goes into cardiac arrest, how do you stabilize him so you can get him to the cath lab to see what's going on in there?"

The resident glanced at Jack, then back to his attending. "Well," he racked his mind. "I guess you'd use could do post-ROSC cooling? I mean they do it in the ER all the time. Cold body means decreased myocardial demand, which means lower oxygen requirements and less cell death. At least that's why we cool people after they code on us—to slow things down. Dr. Hamill's right, there isn't anything wrong with his heart, but an IV ice slurry would cool his blood down in a matter of minutes. I guess it would act to slow the infection down as well?"

Carter winked at him. "No data on that, but his lactate was through the roof, which means his organs are pissed off, just like in a code situation. We'll have to watch and wait to see what he does. I'm hoping if we get him cold enough it'll take some of the stress off his body. This is going to be like a giant IV Slurpee. Normally we stick a CVP line in the internal jugular, but this isn't my territory so cardiology may opt for femoral placement. Ryerson will keep a close eye on him once we start, won't ya doc?" He peered behind the anesthesia drape to wave at the man.

Ryerson rolled his eyes and issued a thumbs up.

The team seemed to settle into an easy rhythm under Dr. Carter's leadership. Even when Dr. Hamill returned with Dr. Pearce and several technicians, he didn't once question the younger doctor's competency. By the 45-minute mark, they had Jack sufficiently stabilized enough for the surgical team to scrub in and start the procedure. Carter made a mid-line incision to open the abdominal cavity.

"Ah, I bet that's our problem right there." Carter ran a gloved finger over the perforation in Jack's small bowel. "No wonder he's septic. I'll have to do a sew-over."

They worked vigilantly to cauterize the source of the blood that had pooled into his abdominal cavity. He had an infection. A bad one. They could tell by the putrid smell of the wound that it was riddled with bacteria and pus. The knife had nicked Jack's intestine and his own bacteria and joined forces with the opportunists which were already trying to do him in. Carter repaired the wound and then rinsed Jack's abdomen out with several liters of warm, sterile water that had to be suctioned away. He inspected the integrity of Jack's other organs as he worked.

Hamill himself insisted on closing. Carter didn't dare argue with him.

"How's his temp?" Hamill asked, not looking up from his needle driver. He caught the edge of the curved needle with his forceps and pulled it through so that he could tie off the vicryl suture it was attached to.

Carter glanced at the monitor. "He's at 82.2 so moderately hypothermic. The question is how fast do we want to warm him up?"

Robert frowned. "He's got one hell of an infection; one of the worst I have seen in a while. If we warm up some IV fluids and bring him up by 10 degrees we can leave a bit of a buffer zone for the fever."

"So, we'll bring him straight on through to ICU?"

Hamill nodded. "Yeah. We can keep him on regular acetaminophen and start him on some re-warming fluids. I hope the rough part of this is over."

Carter yawned. "Me too. Though I have to say, for a doctor, he's being a pretty damn good patient."

The Chief of Surgery scoffed. "He hasn't woken up yet, so don't get too excited," he warned.

"Why's that, you think he's gonna be a pain in the ass?"

Hamill finished and tried to spread the wound apart with his fingers. When it remained intact nodded to the scrub nurse. "You said it yourself. When is a sick doctor not a 'pain in the ass'? It's a distinguishing trait."

"Right. Puts us up there with cops and doughnuts and fireman with those spotted dogs." Carter agreed, barely suppressing a smile. "We'll have to put a warning sticker on his chart that says he's a doctor so that the nurses give him the 'Sick Doctor Treatment' if he acts up."

Robert Hamill blinked. "The what?"

"You've obviously never been hospitalized," Carter deadpanned. "Don't worry. It's some universal code among nurses. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they teach it in school. Trust me, if they know he's a doctor they'll know what to do."

"Good. If it speeds up his recovery tell them to treat away."

"Yes, I suppose you _do_ want your spinal surgeon back?"

Hamill frowned and dodged the question completely. "You did good work here today Dr. Carter."

He pulled off his gloves and glanced at the clock mounted in the corner of the room. "Jesus, your shift ended hours ago. It's past 1 a.m. Why don't you take off? I'll wait and page the porters to wheel Jack down to ICU."

"Nah, I'll help you bring him now. My wife's out of town with the kids so it's only saving me from cold pizza and HBO. I also have a patient I want to check up on before I kick off."

"The pregnant one?" Hamill asked, ripping off his gown and surgical mask. Carter followed his lead.

"Yeah. She was brought in yesterday with a GSW to her shoulder." His face hardened as he spoke. "Funny thing was, the wound was at least a week old. It looked like someone had stitched it up with a needle and thread. I explored the wound and it was clean enough, but she was severely dehydrated."

"Did you get the police involved?" Hamill frowned and made a motion to pull the guard rail up on his side of Jack's gurney. Carter mirrored him and shook his head.

"Not yet. She just didn't seem to fit the picture of an assault victim. Said a doctor in Fiji stitched her up and admitted to not taking her antibiotics. I didn't realize she didn't know she was pregnant. She broke down on me when I mentioned it so I didn't want to push her."

He grasped the foot of the stretcher and the ventilator with his other hand, pulling them both along as Dr. Hamill steered them out of the OR.

"Well, someone's going to have to look into it." Hamill told the man sternly.

"I will. Just give me a couple of days to let her…" Carter paused and frowned. "Kate?"

Kate had been walking the floors for almost an hour. She had eaten the rest of her meal and earned some points with the charge nurse who seemed sympathetic that she couldn't get back to sleep. Kate was restless by nature. The nurses could see that and relented when she asked to go for a walk to "help her relax."

She claimed that she needed the exercise, not the drugs they couldn't give her because she was pregnant, to put her to sleep. It was late and visiting hours had long since passed. They finally agreed provided that she took it "slowly."

"Kate, what are you doing out of bed?"

Her head snapped up and she let her eyes focus down the brightly lit corridor, two floors below her own ward. Had the nurses really followed down here?

With effort, she brushed aside the initial instant of shocked recognition. The doctor looking after her, Carter, was advancing toward her, but it was what was behind him that she couldn't seem to process.

"Do you know how late it is? You're supposed to be resting," he explained gently, frowning when she didn't appear to be listening a word he was saying. "Kate?"

The color drained out of her face. She looked as if she was going to pass out.

"Jack." She rasped, in a wary, confused voice. She shakily evaded Carter's attempt to steer her back toward the elevator and slowly made her way to Dr. Hamill and the stretcher.

This couldn't be real. Jack was dead. Her mind was still playing tricks on her. It had to be.

Every step towards him felt like an eternity, like she was walking in a tunnel with no end. But there he was laying there, not 10 feet in front of her, his body lax and sedated from the cocktail of drugs being pumped in his system.

 _Jack._ She began to shake her head back and forth in a tentative denial, waiting for him to vanish like a mirage in a desert. Her vision wavered from the tears starting to sting her eyes, but the image didn't resolve itself. Jack stayed on the stretcher; he didn't disappear like he had when she was curled up on her couch. He didn't look mad, or disapproving, or anything. He just slept on, oblivious to what was unfolding around him.

"Jack?" she managed a hoarse whisper. One hand clumsily found his cheek. He was cold, ice cold. Kate jerked her hand back in surprise.

He _was_ dead.

Her nails dug into her palms as everything around her began to swim with the raw emotion of it all. Her ears started to ring and she emitted a low whimper. Dr. Hamill caught her before she could fall face first onto the tile below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Huge thanks to DimpleCurlAeternaGirl for all the awesome ideas and beta! Also thanks to everyone who reviewed. Please let me know what you think and if I should continue. :)


	3. Something To Fight For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DimpleCurlAeternaGirl for all the awesome ideas and beta! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate them and please keep them coming and I'll keep updating.

**Once a Hero**

**Chapter Three:** Something To Fight For

"Kate…? Kate!" Carter saw Hamill drop down to his knees with his peripheral vision and whipped around.

"Jesus, you got a pulse on her?" He knelt to join Hamill on the polished white floor. It had just been waxed and he slid slightly. His shoes made a loud squeak echo down the hallway.

"Yeah," Hamill agreed, adjusting his grip so that he could get his pointer and middle finger over her carotid artery "It's good and strong. I think she just went syncopal on us."

Carter leaned in, smoothing her curly hair away from her brow with his hand. Her head flopped backwards. He slid his left hand behind her neck to support it. She was pale. The blue and white checkered hospital gown she was wearing was damp with sweat. "She's pretty diaphoretic."

Hamill frowned, staring down at the unconscious woman in his arms. He shifted her weight, eliciting a groan.

"Oh, careful!" Carter warned. "This is the lady I was telling you about with the GSW to the left shoulder. Kate."

Hamill stared at him. "Kate who?"

"Kate Austen." Carter shot him a quizzical look. "You know her or something?'

Hamill sighed as he stood. "Not quite. Bring Dr. Shephard down to the ICU and meet me in my office. Take the elevator by Day Surgery to the 8th floor, then hang a left at the end of the hallway. It's the second door on the right."

Cater scratched his neck uncomfortably. "Wow. Called to the boss's office my first week. That some kind of record?"

Hamill issued him a bland look and shook his head. "What's her status otherwise? She healthy?" He gestured to the woman in his arms.

"Physically yes, although I can't vouch for how she was shot in the shoulder. A friend found her delirious at home and called EMS. Her pressure was a bit soft in emerge, but she started to come around once we got some fluids going. I cleaned out the wound and started her on some IV Cefazolin to be safe. She seemed like she was doing okay."

"Other than you accidentally telling her she was pregnant?" Hamill's tone was dry.

Carter sighed and looked guilty down at his feet. He hadn't gotten around to bringing in a proper set of OR shoes yet and still had the blue-mesh covers wrapped around his ASICS sneakers. "I know, I know. Not one of my finest moments."

The low battery alarm started to beep on Jack's IV pump. Hamill glanced at it, then at Jack. The man slept on, oblivious. It was the calmest he had seen him all night. "Get Dr. Shephard settled in the ICU. We'll be waiting in my office."

"Hang on a second, _we_?" He called after his retreating form. He huffed, unsure if Hamill didn't hear him or was intentionally ignoring him. Sighing, he walked to the head of Jack's stretcher.

"You know something I don't?" He asked the unconscious man with an air of exasperation.

Dr. Hamill probably would have been pissed to find out that Carter had spent a good five minutes with Jack parked outside the back corridor jumping and waving at the security camera. The ICU was a locked unit. In the week he had worked at St. Sebastian's, no one had bothered to explain to him that he had to fill out a different form with the security office to gain access.

He let out a heavy breath when the heavy double doors finally folded back on themselves. Carter peered inside the horseshoe shaped unit. The lights were low. He slowly pushed Jack toward the main nursing station.

"Who are you?" Noreen, the charge nurse glanced up from the crossword puzzle she had propped in her lap.

"Dr. Nathan Carter. General Surgery. I'm new here and I have a patient."

"Porters typically bring the patients and its common courtesy to call ahead first." She glared irritably at him.

"I'm sorry." He squinted at her name tag, "Noreen…still getting used to the place and he isn't your typical patient." Carter offered a smile and gestured to Jack.

Noreen's expression changed. "Oh, my word! Is that Dr. Shephard?" She threw her crossword on the desk and stood up to get a better look. "Oh, the poor dear! He's been through so much already."

"Yeah," Carter agreed. "He's had a pretty rough go of it tonight and I'd like to get him settled away. I've barely met the man and his IV pump is already pissed off at me," he hooked his thumb backward, gesturing to the angry-faced battery image that kept flashing red across the screen.

"Yes, of course. Bed Eight. He can have one of the isolation rooms to give him some privacy." She gestured to help Carter steer Jack into the room where two nurses were waiting to help transfer him to the bed.

"There we go, Jack. Got ya a room with a view and everything. Service isn't too bad here either," he tried to joke as he helped the nurses hook Jack up to their monitors. Once they were finished, Carter wrote some orders in Jack's chart and cleared his throat to address the room for handover.

"Alrighty, I'm sure as most of you know, this is Dr. Jack Shephard. He's a 38-year-old male admitted with a stab wound, right lower quadrant. He presented to emerge tonight with an altered LOC and severe sepsis. We brought him to the OR for an exploratory laparotomy but had a helluva time keeping him stable. He's been tachy in the 120s-150s and febrile at 104 F. We ended up consulting cardiology for some invasive cooling. Once we got him stabilized we opened him up and did a small bowel repair, which was well tolerated, minimal blood loss." Carter stopped to take a breath and flip to the back of Jack's chart for the vital signs record.

"Vitals currently are: heart rate at 54, BP 100/64, and temp at 85.6 F," he read. "Don't worry too much about his temp. A little bit of permissive hypothermia is okay, but please page me if he becomes febrile again. In terms of lines and tubes: he's got two peripheral IVs in his antecubitals, a triple lumen central line in his right IJ and a urinary catheter. Anesthesia said he was an easy intubation, but he's stubborn and keeps trying to breath over the vent so they upped his sedation. He's on a Propofol infusion of 4 mg/kg/hr, which can be re-assessed in the morning. We are doing Pip-Tazo 4.5g IV q6h for antibiotics and Dilaudid 0.1-0.5 mg IV q5-15min PRN to a max of 5mg every six hours for pain."

Carter scratched his head and thought carefully about his words "Now, I know some of you have heard that he's had some trouble with opioid abuse in the past. So, I did some peritoneal nerve blocks to make it easier on him. I just want you to be aware of how much you're giving him and that his tolerance might be higher than someone who's opioid naive. Don't give the stuff out like candy, but don't hold back on him either because I have a feeling he's a bit on the stubborn side and may not tell you if he's in pain. Any questions?"

He was pleased when no one in the room reacted to his statement. He suspected that Jack worked out of the ICU quite a bit with his post-op patients and most of the staff seemed to know and respect him.

"Okay. Great. My name's Nathan Carter, by the way, you can call me Nathan or Nate. I'm sure you all are going to take excellent care of Dr. Shephard and I look forward to working with you."

The Chief of Surgery's office was a spacious room with lots of windows, located on the south west corner of the hospital. For Robert, the unobstructed view of the skyline and tastefully decorated space had been a perk, at least at first. After a month, the novelty had faded and he wondered if the job was worth the long hours of administrative bullshit. The room did have a decent leather couch. A couch that he found himself sleeping on more than his own bed. He set Kate down on it and propped a pillow behind her head.

"Kate?" He asked gently, testing the name on his tongue. When she groaned at him he nodded once to himself and walked next door to the Pre-Admission clinic. He returned five minutes later with an IV pole, a couple of blankets from the warmer, a bag of Ringers Lactate, and a 450ml bottle of orange juice.

"Let's see if we can get you feeling better." He found the IV in the back of her right hand and screwed in the tubing to run the fluids through. He slid his finger up the line until he found the plastic dial and opened it wide.

Carter found him 15 minutes later, sitting at his desk and staring down at his Blackberry.

"Little late for phone calls?" He yawned as and paused in the middle of the room to admire the Los Angeles skyline outside the windows that took up the majority of the back wall of Hamill's office. The overhead lights were off and the room was illuminated by the lamps on either side of the couch.

"Tryin' to figure out if I should call the wife," Hamill muttered, not looking up at him.

"Ah," Carter grinned knowingly. "Stay late often?"

"Third time this week," the older man admitted.

"Then I think you're at the point where you take her to dinner, have a long talk, and grovel for forgiveness." He sat on one of the overstuffed consultant chairs in front of the desk. He hadn't noticed Kate laying on the couch at first and shot Hamill a confused look.

"Any reason you're holding my patient hostage?" He asked after a long moment and gestured to Kate. "We do have hospital beds ya know."

Hamill pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are not going to believe this," he grunted, fishing a tattered scrap of paper out of the breast pocket of his scrubs. He slid it across the desk to Carter who stared at it.

"My resident found Dr. Shephard in the ED waiting room. This was taped to him."

" _Taped_ to him," Carter's eyebrows furrowed and he read the note again. "What the actual fuck…" he swallowed and hesitated. "Err…frig...?" He winced, his cheeks coloring.

"Carter, it's 2 a.m. in the fucking morning. I really don't give a fuck that you are cursing in front of me." Hamill deadpanned.

"Right." Carter turned back to Kate. "So, she's the Kate in the letter?"

Hamill nodded. "She recognized him. I think that's why she passed out. They were in that plane crash together."

Carter opened his mouth to ask something else, but a low whimper cut him off.

Kate woke, not knowing where she was. She tried to sit up, but her efforts sent a bolt of pain coursing through her left shoulder. Her eyes widened with fear when she didn't recognize her surroundings.

"Hey there, it's okay. I'm Dr. Carter, Nathan. We met earlier, do you remember?"

She nodded her head but was breathing erratically and her heart was threatening to leap through her chest. She pushed herself up with her right arm.

"Okay, good. Try and take a few nice deep breaths." Carter knelt in front of her and demonstrated. "That's it," he coaxed. "See, you're alright, Kate. You just fainted on us."

Kate's brow furrowed and she stared at him. "What?" She managed.

"You were walking down the hall and you got a little bit weak so we brought you back here to Dr. Hamill's office. See, he's the bald guy over there who looks like a Ninja Turtle."

Hamill scowled at Carter.

"He's also the Chief of Surgery and my boss," Carter explained to her with a grin. "Okay, let's not do that!" He caught her as she stood up suddenly. She felt fuzzy and overwhelmed. Something was squeezing her chest and she just needed to get outside and get some fresh air.

"Kate," Carter said slowly. "I'm going to sit you back down and I want you to relax for a minute."

When she wavered slightly, he took her by the elbow and guided her.

She almost tripped over the base of her IV poll. The motion seemed to jar her from her thoughts and she blinked heavily, suddenly feeling as though her head was stuffed with cotton. Something was squeezing her arm. Her breath hitched.

"S'okay, just stay still for another moment." Carter sounded unapologetic as he deflated the blood pressure cuff Hamill had handed him.

"90/70, you're still a smidge low, but we're giving you some extra fluids through this IV." He tapped her right hand with his finger.

"Sip on this," He instructed, handing her the bottle of orange juice sitting on the edge of Hamill's desk. "I know it's been a rough night. You've probably haven't eaten much and had to deal with my less than stellar bedside manner to boot."

Kate sipped on the orange juice grudgingly and Carter gave her a thumbs-up. He pulled a chair over and sat facing her. If she decided to pass out again he would be able to catch her from falling forward.

Hamill opened a window and grabbed the letter from his desk before joining Kate on the couch. He sat next to her and offered his hand. "Hey Kate, the name's Rob Hamill."

Kate shook it weakly and he smiled at her. "It looks like Dr. Carter has been taking good care of you," he commented, watching her.

She nodded, trying to work out how she went from fainting to ending up in the Chief of Surgery's office.

"How about a granola bar?" Hamill offered, motioning toward his bag. "It's chocolate chip."

"No thanks." Kate ground out, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot that her stomach had twisted itself into. She bit her lip, hoping to god her stomach did not decide to empty its contents all over the Chief of Surgery's shiny black loafers.

"Okay," Hamill relented when he felt she was alert enough to understand the situation.

"Kate, do you remember anything about just before you fainted?" He asked gently.

"What do you—" she faltered and felt bile rise in the pit of her stomach. It started as a sick feeling that she had pushed to the back of her mind then the image of Jack's lifeless body on laying peacefully on the stretcher.

"No…" She moaned, shaking her head rapidly. "No…no…no…"

They had somehow found his body and wanted her to identify him. That's why they brought her here. "Oh god, Jack," she sobbed and Hamill automatically wrapped his arm around her back, gently pulling her against him as she cried.

"Kate." He said firmly. He could feel her trembling through the thin hospital gown and snagged one of the wool blankets to wrap around her. "I need to listen to me. Jack is alive."

"No," she whispered, her voice morphing into a choked sob. Her face contorted in anguish. She had touched his cheek. He was ice cold.

Carter leaned forward and forced her to look at him. "Kate," he said slowly. "Earlier tonight someone dropped Jack off in the emergency department badly injured with a note taped to him."

He glanced briefly at Hamill and gestured to paper clutched in the hand that wasn't around Kate's back. Carter doubted she was in any condition to think rationally so he read the thing out loud. It sounded even more ridiculous as he did so but seemed to catch her attention. She was staring at him open mouthed by the time he had finished reading.

"Yeah…" he trailed awkwardly. "I'm not sure if that means anything to you?" He handed her the note, watching her hands shake as she reached for it.

"Hurley," she breathed in astonishment, staring at the man's sloppy scrawl. Hurley saved Jack's life and sent him home?

"Jack's alive?" Kate's voice cracked.

"Yes, but he's very sick." Hamill explained. "He was stabbed and we think he was laying around in that condition for quite some time. The knife tore a hole in his bowel and lead to a bad infection."

Kate closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The tiny spark of hope that had blossomed inside of her began to fade.

"It's alright," Carter reassured, watching her face fall. "We got him to the OR and repaired the damage. He's a trooper, even tried to boss the surgical staff around before he went off to sleep," he smirked.

Kate's expression brightened. "You're serious?"

"Yup," Carter grinned. "According to my resident he was laying on the table, absolutely miserable, but still managed to tell our team the proper dose ranges for certain medications because he thought _we_ needed help. I'm new here and never had the opportunity to work with Jack, but I hear he's a pretty awesome surgeon."

"The best," she had trouble reining in her tears. "He got hurt trying to save us," she admitted, letting her gaze drop to the floor.

"And we are going to make sure he gets the best care possible." Hamill told her, his arm gliding across her back in a comforting gesture.

"Technically, he's Dr. Carter's patient, but I want to go down there to look in on him myself to see if he needs anything." He didn't want a repeat of the ER. If he needed to read the ICU staff the riot act, with respect to Jack's privacy, then so be it.

" _Technically_ , Kate and Jack are both my patients and I think _you_ , Kate, should follow Jack's example and get some rest." Carter fixed her with a knowing look.

Kate shook her head stubbornly. "No. I can't…I…" She couldn't bear to leave Jack behind again.

Hamill sighed and felt the headache that had been lingering all night start to build at his temples. He brought both hands up to rub his face, elbows resting on his knees, before he turned to address Carter. "Dr. Carter, how about this: I'll go get Ms. Austen a pair of scrubs to change into and a wheelchair." He paused, half expecting her to challenge him. When she said nothing, he continued. "…And then she can come with me down to the ICU?"

Carter leaned back in his chair and grinned. "I'm cool with that. What do you think, Kate?"

"Please," she rasped, still too shell-shocked to manage much else.

"Alright," Hamill agreed. "But here's my condition: I want you to get some good rest after seeing firsthand that yes, Jack's still alive. I promise you that we are going to take the best care of him, same as we will you, young lady. I suspect Jack would want you to do the same for yourself. Think you can do that for us?"

She gave him a weak nod and straightened slightly, not wanting to convey the exhaustion that seemed to pervade her very core. She couldn't let them see that. She needed to get to Jack. She couldn't lose him again.

"Kate, I'm gonna warn you…" Hamill said gently. "Jack is still very sick. We have him heavily sedated. When you see him he's gonna be hooked up to a lot of monitors and tubes. He's still intubated from the surgery and has a machine breathing for him. It's going to look scary, but all those things are only temporary. It's just our way of giving his body a break so it can heal."

Hamill wasn't sure if it was possible for her to turn any paler. He made her drink the rest of her orange juice before he handed her a pair of scrubs and guided her to a wheelchair that Carter had found in the waiting room of the Pre-Admission Clinic.

" _Young lady_?" Carter mouthed once he had finished wheeling Kate into the washroom adjacent to Hamill's office to change. "What are you ninety?" he laughed.

Robert glared at him. "Old enough to tell you that, that 'Ninja Turtle' comment will be coming up at your next performance review."

The expression on Carter's face fell. Hamill savored it for a moment before he and smirked at him. "Get the hell outta here. I need you functional in a couple of hours."

Carter sighed and stretched. "I'll will if you will?"

"Soon," he said. "Once I get those two settled away."

Carter stared at the closed washroom door with a wistful expression on his face.

"What?" Hamill asked, titling his head.

"You think he's the father?" Carter asked in a low voice. "Dr. Shephard, I mean."

Hamill ran a hand across his tired eyes to rub them. He had been at the hospital since 5 a.m. the previous morning and was starting to feel the long hours catch up with them. "Why should it matter?"

"Because you know how these things go. Our patients have to want to get better and the man you described to me sounded pretty beaten down. Being a dad could give him something to fight for, and Jack's gonna need that more than anything else."

Hamill sighed. "In that case, I hope he is."

"Yeah," Carter agreed. "Me too."


End file.
